when every leaf opens without any sound
and wishing is having and having is giving-
but keeping is doting and nothing and nonsense
Or this, a classic – I have always enjoyed villanelles exceptionally.
Having retrieved all the bags I carelessly left scattered around, I am impossibly relieved right now, and better able to … savour the weighty pangs of loss and disorientation and surreality. There are so many questions to which I don’t have answers at the moment, Yet at the same time the yearning is muted, though palpable. We are all such unfathomable creatures, it seems. This morning, on my way back from picking my luggage up from Nazim, I sat outside a Starbucks sipping my mocha-frappe-with-an-extra-espresso-shot and perusing the 2012 Economist predictions issue. It appalled me how much of the economics I didn’t understand, and how much I should, in order to make any sense of the world at all. All these things I need to do over the summer – at least there is purpose, now, whimsical as it may seem.
I have all these images and impressions in my head, splayed like a deck of cards. It is startling how easy it was to live with my carry-on luggage with all my usable clothes (and underwear) for the two weeks gone, and really, what does it say that I really only have needed a pair of jeans, two shirts and a jacket for the past four days? (And a newly bought dress that is just absolutely darling.) Travelling light has always seemed to be that sort of cosmopolitan chic I aspire towards, but only necessity is able to compel its actual realization. I shall need to be ruthless about the giant package of clothes I have stashed away in someone’s hotel room. But my mood swings, as always.
Yesterday night, I was expressing my current frame of mind at this point in time: I am ready to drop everything and move on, to carve out new niches, to detail new horizons, to be caught anew. Things – people – have run their natural course, and as sharply as memories of them hit, perhaps the days of codependency are over. D told me I was lying to myself, that I could never do that.
The people I am fond of have an extraordinarily amount of influence over me in certain things, depending on the manner of conveyance. There are a few weaknesses of mine when it comes to people – their ability to fall in love, and their ability to appreciate words, and language, and poetry. Silly, perhaps, but inevitably true. It makes it all the more important that I find the right company, I suppose or, barring that, that I find a sufficiently diverse crowd of opinions that will balance each other out in honesty, if not clarity. There are so many things I want to know in this world, so many things I want to read. Sometimes too, I think the things that draw me to people are quite … double-edged. I admire ambition, I admire wanderlust, I admire a thirst for adventure, a deep unsettledness. How does that make for reliability, or constancy, or loyalty in people? But I want life to be exciting too, not simply contented.